I hope, I love, I live
by LightofEvolution
Summary: She had been caught. And brought to Malfoy Manor. The seventh circle of hell. But-maybe-not all hope was lost.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This little story is dedicated to MrBenzedrine. Why? Because I wanted to give something back. She's not only a brilliant writer, but also an amazing friend. Thank you for encouraging me, not only in writing, but also in not giving up hope. Hope that, maybe, there's still a chance to have my ONE wish fulfilled against all odds. You see, this is a bit more emotionally challenging for me than what I usually write.**

 **I asked MrBenzedrine for a prompt, and this is what I got:**

 **"If I don't wield the sword,**  
 **I can't protect you.**

 **If I keep wielding the sword,**  
 **I can't embrace you.**

 **-Ichigo Kurosaki"**  
 **― Tite Kubo, Bleach, Volume 05**

 **This going to be a shorter story, maybe three chapters, and (because MrBenzedrine is a sucker for dark stories, but patiently proofreads my hilarious stuff) a lot darker than anything I've written so far.**  
 **The fantastic waymay beta'ed this, and I'm utterly thankful for that, THANK YOU SO MUCH!**

When she, finally, _finally_ , drove the car from the ferry in Calais, her companion awoke and, immediately, started fussing.

"Shush, little Lyra, everything's going to be okay now." She caressed the baby's belly through the soft green, expensive looking blanket which covered the newborn.

"Your Daddy made sure we're going to be safe."

That was all Hermione dared to hope for.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

 _Eighteen months earlier…_

She had been caught.

Caught and held captive.

And brought to Malfoy Manor. The seventh circle of hell. Not that she expected anyone around her to understand the reference to Dante's _Divine Comedy_ , judging by their conversations which only circled around money and sex. But what else would she expect from a bunch of Snatchers? At least, her Glamour was still intact, and, as it was a strong one, it should remain that way for another two or three hours. And maybe, just when the Forces above would grant her luck once, she wouldn't be identified as Hermione Granger, but simply as an unregistered Muggleborn prostitute.

She had been working undercover at Diagon Alley, disguised as a woman who sold her body for money. Though Hermione made sure she didn't appear cheap and was only available for purebloods in the right circles. All that to get some information, because those girls, how they talked about their customers, and how the Order promised itself useful bits of news via that channel. Of course, it was Hermione who raised her hand in the much too small group to apply. But one of the girls must have tipped her off. Perhaps for a handful of Galleons or a warm meal? She must have become careless, not dull enough. Or maybe someone noticed she never left with any 'customers', though she had many offerings.

Why was she still there? She couldn't very well give up the fight, could she? Not even with Harry dead, killed by Voldemort at that unfortunate day in May five years ago. Not even with Ron gone, fled to another country with his whole family, presumably to Italy's landscape, where distant relatives of his mother lived. She hadn't heard of him in two and a half years. Ron had wanted her to leave with him -begged even, but she couldn't. Not when there was hope left, not when there were still people fighting against the Death Eater regime which had poisoned wizarding Great Britain, ruling everywhere. How they managed to stay without interference from the Muggles, she didn't know. She supposed an _Imperio_ could do wonders. And there _were_ opportunities when the news reported strange incidents, like a family killed without useful forensic evidences. It had been put off as an unfortunate carbon monoxide incident due to a damaged heating, and not as the cowardly murder at wand-point it was.

Hermione's heavy thoughts were forcefully pushed aside when one of the Snatchers brutally gripped her hair. Now that was something they excelled at, wasn't it? Keeping a wandless, handcuffed woman down on her knees.

"Master Malfoy, we brought you someone who should be fitting for your needs! The little whore should be your type!" One of them boasted, clearly in expectation of a reward.

' _NO! Not him!'_ Hermione pleaded inwardly as she heard confident steps approaching her.

"Let me look at her! Hopefully you dunderheads weren't as rough with her as with the last one. I don't like damaged goods."

Hermione would recognise his aristocratic drawl anywhere: Draco Malfoy, one of the Dark Lord's inner circle.

And, indeed, he stepped into her vision. Still platinum blond, still pale, still handsome. Not that it mattered, she was dead, either way.

As he stood there, towering above her, his gaze wandered over her scantily clad form, and Hermione was well aware now how revealing her few clothes were. She observed of how Draco's grey eyes darkened while taking her body in.

"She is very promising, indeed. How did you find her?" He asked the Snatchers, his eyes never leaving her chest.

"On Diagon Alley. She's one of the more expensive ones. Another gave her out as Muggleborn. And she isn't registered. There's no Ophelia Croft on the list."

"Interesting." Draco touched her now, tipping her chin upwards with his long, and surprisingly warm fingers, his greys piercing into her (disguised) greens.

"Pretty enough with a secret. She will do; you are to receive your reward when you leave. Take her to my bedroom." He barked the last words out, obviously used to giving orders. Without further notice, he turned and left the room she identified as travelling room.

Two sets of hands grabbed her, forcing her to stand and walk. Hermione's body was wracked with shudders, however, she remained quiet. She was brave. But not so brave as not to be filled with unspeakable fear of what she would expect in Draco Malfoy's bedroom.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

As she was thrown into the room, the door slammed shut behind her; the lock falling into place. Not giving into the temptation to stay sprawled out on the expensive and soft rug, Hermione stood, scanning her surroundings. 'Well,' she thought, a hysterical laughter bubbling below the surface, 'this is _exactly_ how I imagine his room.' Dark wood, polished and smooth, dominated the room. A king size four-poster bed in the middle of one wall, a warm fireplace on the other. Emerald green fabrics covered the bed and the sofas, including the cosy looking armchair next to the hearth. A door led to the en-suite bath, marble covering the floor around the tub that could easily fit four adults.

Floor-deep French windows (firmly locked) and a balcony gave a beautiful view over the Malfoy estates. Under different circumstances, Hermione would have appreciated Draco's room, but now? What could she do else than to continue on with her mission and collect information from the Death Eaters? But how far was she willing to go? Sleeping with Malfoy while praying that he didn't recognise her? Gods, that was all so surreal.

Startled by a door creaking open, she turned, in fear it was him. To her surprise, it wasn't Draco, but his mother. Dressed as elegantly as ever, Narcissa held her head high, the epitome of a pureblood beauty. Not daring to do or say anything that would give her away, Hermione lowered her head, gaze set strictly on the floor, and her shoulders hunched. When the older woman approached her, she could smell something decisively alcoholic. Was Narcissa drunk?

"You're my son's new plaything, I suppose. Let me have a look at you." In a move similar to her son's she grabbed Hermione's chin, forcing her to look into the woman's cold blue eyes. And confirming, yes, she had a tumbler with fire whiskey in her hand. If the slight slurring of her words was any indication, it wasn't her first.

"What is your name, girl?" Narcissa demanded to know.

"O-Ophelia, Madame Malfoy." She stuttered, and not all of it was fake.

"Mh. Let's give you an once-over to make you a bit more representable." With a snap of her fingers the large wardrobe opened, revealing a rich stock of women's lingerie.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

An hour later, Hermione felt even more like a prostitute. Her (even under the Glamour) unruly, strawberry red curls were tamed, too much make-up was plastered on her face, and she wore a flimsy green baby-doll which barely covered her arse. Afterwards, she was commanded to sit on the bed until Draco came.

But Hermione was running out of time.

One quick peek into the mirror revealed her green eyes were already starting to change back to brown.

And the door opened. Hoping against hope it was a house-elf, or even Narcissa, she tried to stay calm. Only to be robbed of said hope. It was him, Draco Malfoy, strutting into the room, loosening his tie and discarding his outer robes in one precise move.

And he didn't say a word to her.

He slipped out of his shoes, leaving them lying on the floor where he discarded them, and walked over to a locked cupboard. Waving his wand, he unlocked it, determined to retrieve two glasses and a bottle with amber liquid from it.

And he didn't say a word to her.

Was it his preferred torture tactic? To daunt her with his silent front?

His gaze fixed on his task, Draco poured two glasses of what she supposed was Armagnac. He always had a weakness for the drink. And the tendency to overindulge in it.

Then, deliberately, his grey orbs focused on her, as he approached her like how a black panther would towards his prey. What would she do for a wand? Of course, she'd been schooled in different martial arts, but they had already failed her once today. And Draco was known as a brilliant fighter, with or without a wand. She calculated her chances against him in this room -30%. And that was only if he had the same alcohol consumption as his mother.

Her muscles tensed in anticipation, though she avoided looking into his eyes directly. Hermione nearly jumped when she felt the mattress dip under his weight as he sat down on his bed, extending a tumbler to her.

Then, like he'd planned every second of their encounter, with an undertone of confusing humour, he broke the silence.

"This outfit suits you perfectly, Granger."

 _Fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to all of you who are following, reading and reviewing this story. It's a huge compliment for me (because my own stories are normally much more light-hearted), and a I hope for MrBenzedrine, too, because this little thing is mine as much as it's hers (yeah, and HP belongs to none of us).**

 **A BIG THANK YOU for the lovely waymay, who not only proofread this (and, believe me, that isn't something you can do while doing the laundry or having lunch), but also came up with the wonderful title! Thank you for that! Keep on smiling, sunshine!**

 **There's a Latin saying in here: _Abyssus abyssum invocat_ (Vulgata, Ps. 42, 7), which is mostly translated as "deep calleth unto deep", or " one hell calls for/summons another". Though, abyss is much more fitting in my intended meaning. You'll see. **

**A., I hope this is to your liking...**

 _Fuck_.

Before she could even finish thinking her thought, Hermione reacted. She rammed the ball of her hand upwards and felt his nose give a satisfying crack. Not stopping her movements, she jumped from the bed, running towards the door. Her hand was nearly at the handle, when she heard the swish of a wand-

And was pinned to the wall next to the door, her hands bound to it by invisible ropes.

"I always thought your intelligence was overrated, 'brightest witch of her age', my arse!" Draco's controlled words were laced with anger- and muffled by his hand, which clutched his nose. He approached her, quickly. When he came to a halt, his face mere inches from her own, blood trickling from it, he seethed, "What do you think happens if _my mistress_ comes running from _my quarters_? Do you expect the guards to cheer? How far do you think you'd go in this... _lovely_ outfit?" The peculiar molten silver gaze ran over her exposed figure again. "Without a wand, I might add?" Reaching into the back pocket of his trousers, he produced a wand. Her wand.

"10 ¾ inches long, vine, dragon-heartstring. Quite unique. If it hadn't been the wand, your eyes would have given you away. Quite unique, too."

Hermione felt sick. That bastard! But she wouldn't go down with a fight.

"The spark in them. So _alive_." He drawled on.

Using the fact that he invaded her personal bubble, she yanked her knee up. The impact on his family jewels made him go down.

"Fuck, Granger!" With some twisted pleasure, Hermione saw Draco gathering his breath for some minutes, his face an even paler colour. When he could do something else than curse, he got up, slowly.

"Remind me again, why I'm taking up all this shit to _rescue_ you!"

Her world stopped turning.

No! It couldn't- absolutely impossible.

Her feelings must have mirrored on her face, because Draco smirked at her.

Between grinding teeth, she managed the courage to cuss at him, "Son of a bitch!"

He had the audacity to deepen his smirk.

"Whoa, Granger. Wait until my mother hears about this. She won't invite you to her whiskey-spiked tea if you're so much fun."

He pointed his own wand at her. "Now, you're going to _behave_ while I enlighten you." It wasn't a question. It was an order. And his voice was totally void of any sarcasm now.

Did she really have a choice?

Hermione gave a sharp nod.

And, true to his words, he released his binding spell. Waiting until she rubbed her wrists, slightly bruised from struggling against the bonds, he gestured over to the fireplace. "Make yourself comfortable and have a drink. You will need it, and this stuff is way too good to let it go to stale."

She didn't trust him any more than she could throw him. Rolling his eyes at her, he sat in the armchair, not before summoning his own glass with his wand. "Fine, then be stubborn. Though, I like my mistresses much more _pliant_." The sarcastic drawl was back.

Hermione, while the thoughts were running wild in her brain, decided for one, simple question.

"Why?" Her voice could have cut through glass.

"Because, Granger, believe it or not, there are still people out there who care for your well-being. Me, not included."

"Who?"

"The Weasels, for example." Hermione gasped at Draco's revelation, but the blond continued. "The bigger part of the poor remains with the Order of the Phoenix, of which -before you ask- I'm a part of. Though, this little fact is only known to two people."

"No. You're lying." She was convinced this all had to be one sick, twisted plot of the wizard who lounged so casually next to the warming heath.

"Believe what you want. But the truth is: you're much too precious to the Order that they can't tolerate your recent behaviour. You've become reckless, taking higher and higher risks at missions. And they need someone with brains outside Britain who can pull all the right strings. Or, if things go downhill as they seem to, collect the shards and reform."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Hermione knew he spoke the truth. The circumstance alone made her knees shake, and in - given her attire- very ungraceful move, threw herself on the plush sofa. Draco summoned the other glass and it flew to Hermione's outstretched hand. Without even looking into it, she drowned it in one go. She wasn't in the mood for 'constant vigilance' right now.

"Maybe I've given up hope." Her voice not more than a whisper, but clear enough for Draco to react upon.

"Oooh, would you like a ticket onto the pity train?- 'cause get this, Granger, no-one in this room gives two shits."

Realising she had to try for another approach to get her questions answered, the (again) brunette cleared her throat and asked her nemesis/ally with as much neutrality as she could muster, "How long have you been a spy for the Order?"

"Since May 1998." His lips curled into his trademark smirk at her surprised intake of breath. All that time? How often had she read in the reports about him? His strategic genius? His combat abilities? His bloodshed? God save his soul.

" _Abyssus abyssum invocat_ , Granger. Who could provide the so-called light side with better information than one of the Dark Lord's inner circle?"

Hermione didn't want to test the waters between them too much, so, instead of answering, she asked, "Ron is really behind this all? And he knows you're the one," she indicated quotation marks with her hands, " _'rescuing'_ me the way you do?"

"' _Ron_ '," he mimicked her movements, "of course doesn't know. He merely sent one sobbing request after another to Shacklebolt and McGonagall." The mentioning of these two names told Hermione Draco knew about the Order's dual leadership. In case one of them was killed, the rebellion wouldn't be without a head.

"And on one point in the recent past they decided to follow his pleadings and contacted me, handing me out the mission to retrieve you and get you out of this country as fast as possible. Who am I to resists the irony of me saving the Order's most beautiful arse?"

Again, Hermione spotted the strange glint in his grey orbs, but that could just be a reflection of the crackling flames. The way his tone lowered to a darkened one when he talked about her behind on the other hand couldn't be wished away.

"Pig!"

His chuckle turned into a sultry rumble. "You know, usually my so-called mistresses are very grateful once they get behind the fact that I'm sparing their life and body."

"Let me guess, Malfoy. They are _so grateful_ that they spread their legs for you?" The dumb women. But, considering where she was caught by the Snatchers, it shouldn't shock her. Sex was probably their only way to show gratitude.

"Exactly."

"Don't even think about it! I'm not your usual charity case to sooth your soul." A flash of raw hurt flashed over his expression, only to be masked again. "What happens to me now?"

"The same as with the other whores: I pretend to be a bit rough with you, you play along, and we keep you glamoured. And, after some time has passed, I'm fed up with you, you'll have to disappear. I have people I trust with the last part, but I can't tell you who it is, as not to endanger them should you get caught. They get you out of the country, mostly via portkey, to an unknown location. Only in this case, I do: Weasley is waiting for you then, somewhere in Spain."

Though Hermione had no other option but to trust Draco Malfoy, she desperately wanted to play by her own rules.

"You will give me my wand." And to her astonishment, her familiar piece of vine was thrown at her.

"And I want to play a proper pureblood mistress." The tall wizard raised his eyebrows in a suggestive and inappropriate manner.

"In public, you git. The girls in Diagon Alley talk, I know the other mistresses meet at certain occasions, and I want to collect as many useful pieces of data as possible. That was my mission, after all."

He pondered her demand for a minute, then nodded. "I suppose I will have to do some explaining, because, normally, my girls stay out of that to protect them. You will have to play your part very convincingly, then. The others have to believe you're special enough to me that I keep you around for a while. Mother's going to instruct you how to behave in those circles."

Ignoring Hermione's sounds of protest, Draco got up from the armchair and sauntered over to his bathroom. After some minutes, in which Hermione stayed seated, going over her new situation, he emerged. Wearing nothing more than pajama pants and a white, fitted t-shirt. Realising his intentions as he lifted the bed covers, Hermione spat, "You're sleeping on the couch."

Another amused, dark chuckle. "No."

"Yes. On my side or not, I'm not sharing a bed with you, ferret." No way would she close her eyes inches away from Draco Malfoy.

"Oh, but you will. Think about it, _pet_. It wouldn't be convincing if someone comes into my room in the morning, and I'm sleeping without my mistress, would it?"

As much as she wanted to, she couldn't argue with his logic. A real mistress would share her lover's bed, without any doubt and in more sense than one. Fighting against every instinct in her body, she slipped under the covers, staying away from him as far as possible.

Despite her intentions, she fell asleep minutes later. He didn't touch her once that night.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Narcissa Malfoy was nursing her second refill of whiskey despite the fact it was merely eleven in the morning, however, nothing gave her state away except for an ever so subtle shaking of her hands.

"I really don't know why Draco made you the exception to his rule to never expose his women to the public, but it's not as if I had anything else to do, so be it." An icy stare was sent towards Hermione's direction, who was glamoured as Ophelia again.

"A mistress is a woman, kept by a wealthy man, who is to be available for sexual pleasures to said man. The difference to a prostitute is that she is exclusively devoted to one man, and often fulfills a certain social role. This includes accompanying him to dinners and the like, and conversing with other mistresses and wives, where she presents him and his family in the most favourable light. However, a mistress is not a wife, neither by her legal status, nor by giving birth to eventual children. If I were you, I wouldn't make myself too comfortable around this circus, because Draco tends to tire of his playthings quite fast, and then he gets a bit careless in their handling."

Hermione forced her face into a shocked expression, relieved that was only what everyone else outside of Draco's bedroom would believe. At the same time, she felt pity for the blonde witch; Despite her regal exterior, this was a broken woman who deemed her own flesh a monster, a willing participant in a cruel game of blood and magic.

"Scared you, didn't I?" Her harsh voice gave away that she wasn't really sorry. Hermione lowered her gaze to the expensive rug on the floor of Narcissa's private tea parlor.

"Don't worry. Ophelia, wasn't it?" She sounded less cold now, more controlled. "Draco must see something special in you. You have to possess a certain level of intelligence and courage to go unnoticed by the authorities for a long time. And those are traits he always admired in a woman. And maybe he's taken my husband's advice to heart and looks for a proper wife, what would make you a training round. However, you are well-advised to serve him and the Malfoy name good."

Hermione spent the rest of the day being reined in by Narcissa about how to behave as a perfect pureblood mistress, all the while asking herself if Lucius also kept one or some.

Draco didn't talk to her that evening. In a repetition of the evening before, he discarded his clothes and shoes, poured himself and her a drink. He downed it in one gulp, went to the bathroom, emerged, and climbed into bed. All that time not a word fell from his tightly pressed lips. Hermione followed his pattern, emptied the glass, brushed her teeth, and fell asleep half an hour later, after coming to the conclusion that this eerily silent Draco was even worse than the one she'd heard talking so bitterly before. Because death often came quietly.

He didn't touch her once that night.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"So, Ophelia," her fake name sounded like a foreign word on Pansy Parkinson's- no, Nott's lips. Of course, the pug faced woman hadn't heard of Shakespeare in her life. "You are the witch to warm Draco's bed now when he comes back from work?"

Following the line of speech Narcissa had instilled her upon, Hermione answered, as politely as possible, "What happens behind Master Malfoy's closed door is for me to know and none of your concern, I might say." That earned her an admiring smile from Daphne Zabini.

"You're just jealous, Pans. Because she takes a place you always saw yourself in, before Theo claimed his stake on you."

Hermione already began to make mental notes about the group of six witches, wives mostly, that surrounded her. Narcissa had decided she should start with a smaller group of women close her age before she performed in a bigger circle, and that meant she knew most of them from school. But in contrast to her, Pansy, Daphne, and the others hadn't spent the years after leaving Hogwarts fighting for the cause or survival, but in the comfortable safety of tea parlors and biscuits. All they did was gossip, about their husbands, about the 'society'. Those information could be immensely precious for the Order. For example, if Blaise had a sore back because of his and Daphne's bedroom activities, but was 'too proud to admit it, and thus taking a potion against it, there was the possibility that he couldn't dodge curses as fast when in a duel with an Order member.

She stayed mostly quiet that afternoon, sipping the excellent tea, sometimes giving a sophisticated reply when asked something. Before she could play the game, she needed to learn the rules by observing.

Hermione wanted to tell Draco about her progress when he came back that night, but one view into his face told her it wouldn't be wise. His black robes were burnt, and he reeked of destruction, the eyes a grey like clouds shortly before lightning strikes. Yet, he followed his ritual: Discarding clothes, pouring Armagnac, then drowning it. Though, this time, he all but collapsed into the armchair, his head falling into his cupped hands, concealing his face.

The witch was all too familiar with the terrors he must have encountered, terrors that happened by the help of his hawthorn wand.

Somehow feeling obliged to act, she stepped behind him, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Feeling him stiffen under her touch, she murmured, "Draco, if-"

"Don't!" His voice was full of pain and sorrow, but his message was clear, he didn't want Hermione's offered help. She retrieved her hand and prepared for bed. Aside from Draco's ragged breathing, the room was bathed in silence.

When she awoke several hours later, and the darkness was still overpowering the light outside, he was snoring lightly beside her. He was inches closer to her than in the previous nights.

But he still didn't touch her once that night.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The next morning Hermione woke with a start, because a hand was pressed over her mouth. Her battle instincts told her to fight, but she felt a body's weight pressing her down. She forced her eyes to adapt fast at the daylight, and she realised she was nose to nose with Draco.

He forced her in an uncomfortable, intimate position, with him resting between her opened thighs, her legs closing around his waist automatically. Draco's arms were perched beside her head, her wrists fixated under them. The morning stubble on his jaw scrubbed over her cheeks, when he roughly commanded, "Play along!"

That was when she heard the door thrown open, shortly followed by a wolf whistle.

"Draco, mate! Releasing some stress this early in the morning?" Before she could identify the voice as Theo Nott's, Draco's lips descended on hers in a kiss. There was nothing gentle or sweet in the way his lips roamed over hers, but, sensing his intentions, she played along indeed, giving what she hoped was an approving sigh. Her plan went downhill when his scent invaded her nostrils, strong and unmistakably male with an undernote of wood, bringing something very primal to her surface. Purely on instinct, Hermione's body acted on its own and responded to the kiss. Draco's tongue begged for entrance with a nudge on her upper lip- and she granted it.

The slap of his tongue against hers short circuited her brain fully, and the following sigh wasn't pretend, nor was Draco's moan she felt vibrating on her lips.

"Get up, lover boy, the Dark Lord is waiting for us."

As if burned, Draco jumped up, his eyes blazing and his face flushed, and practically ran out of the room, only stopping to grab his wand from the night table and his robes from the chair.

When Hermione fell back into the sinfully soft sheets, she could hear Theo asking on their way out, "Wasn't she strawberry blonde when she arrived?"

Draco's sharp answer was, "Yes, but I prefer my whores brunette."

Their steps became distant, and Hermione listened to her awfully fast heartbeat.

That was too close for her liking. And the kiss _too_ real.

 _Fuck._

 **A/N: Like it? Hope so.**

 **Further thanks to: Sam Wallflower (sooo happy you like the darker atmosphere!), pgoodrichboggs (Thank you! You're such a loyal reviewer!), Sundaegirl99 (excellent? *blush*), Grovek26 (I'm happy you like this story, too!), HarryPGinnyW4eva (yay, you're here!), Slytherinvillain7 (*grins, giggle*), IrishPrincess1987 (I am totally smitten with the prompt, too. ut I gotta admit, i had to google Bleach...), Nimueiswriting (hope you found this chapter interesting, too), and CreekbytheBrooke (got your answer?).**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing this, because it really means so much to me, especially with this story. My internet connection is totally wobbly at the moment, so, this time I'll refrain from answering every single review. But I want you to know, I appreciate every single one and love them so much!**

 **MrBenzedrine proofread this one, please give her hugs, because she's such a brilliant woman, author, and friend! THANK YOU!**

 **P.S.: There's a reference to Berthold Brecht's The Good Person of Szechwan in here. It's a play/novel, that deals with the question how someone can be good while evil is all around him (I honestly have no idea how adaequate the English translation is as I've only read the original). The answer is a bit more complicated, but for now, that description should suffice. But this (book) influenced me quite much in my adolescence.**

"Look, about this morning-" Hermione swirled the amber liquid in her hands, admiring the way the firelight reflected in it. Anything as not to look in Draco's grey orbs.

"I won't apologize. Forget it," he rambled, the tension in his voice thick. "To make this thing believable, we have to act our parts. If you have a problem with that, then so be it. I-"

"-I wanted to thank you, Draco!" The git was honestly surprised at her admission. "I thought a lot about this the whole day, and I have come to the conclusion that this - _kiss_ … was the best way to conceal, and therefore to protect me."

She felt herself blush when his lips curled into that trademark smirk of his.

Placing his glass on the coffee table, the blond wizard stood up, and in two self-conscious steps, he crossed the distance to Hermione's place on the sofa. He braced his arms beside her head on the back of it, effectively caging her in. The atmosphere in the room had changed from awkward to charged within seconds, and Hermione felt her heartbeat quicken.

Draco leaned down to her, and whispered into her ear, "You are aware that we could be forced to take our acting to another, more _intense_ level?" Damnit, this was Draco Malfoy! Though, his voice and his words tugged on something in Hermione's core she'd rather forget in the times of war.

Trying to appear unfazed, she locked her eyes with his. "I'm well aware, thank you. Are you afraid that I'm not up to the act?"

This dark chuckle followed again, and before she could do something about it, she felt his tongue tracing her pulse point with one fast move. Hermione barely suppressed a moan. "After this morning, I'm not that sure anymore about the acting part, pet."

And then, as if nothing had occurred, he left for the bathroom and followed his nightly ritual, leaving a hot and bothered Hermione behind.

He didn't touch her once that night. But he could have, because he was only an handbreadth away.

In the following weeks, they fell into a somewhat comfortable routine: He'd leave for work in the mornings, and every second day or so, Hermione would meet for breakfast, lunch or tea with a circle of pureblood wives and mistresses. In the evenings, she'd discuss her findings with him over one glass of Armagnac, and he'd tell her the information would find their way to the Order. She'd ask him about his day, but he'd shrug his shoulders, and his complexion would darken. Then they'd go to bed, always leaving a small, but respectable distance between them.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"You look very- presentable this evening." Draco's words couldn't betray his eyes' dark gleam when he looked her up and down.

Hermione, on the other hand, felt like Narcissa' s personal doll. "All your mother's doing, I suppose." She hugged her thin shawl around her shoulders; she simply felt exposed in this too-tight emerald dress which showed more of her bosom than she'd like.

"It will certainly knock the old men over and turn the other women green from jealousy. As long-"

"-As long as I only speak when I'm addressed. Yes, Draco, we've been over it several times."

The dinner, hosted by Theo Nott's father, went rather well. Hermione, disguised as Ophelia, smiled alluringly and conversed politely, giving all the right answers -and got some in return, secretly of course. Oh, Mrs. Greengrass hadn't seen her husband for a fortnight now because he is on a honorable mission in Wales? Poor lady. And how annoying it was that the supplies of Veritaserum ran short, wasn't it?

She felt safe in her role through the night, and there was just one moment when she felt her heart speed up: the moment when Draco placed his hand on the small of her back and rubbed circles with his thumb through the thin fabric. And there was nothing she could do about the excited feeling spreading through her body.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

His robes were covered in blood one evening. And he didn't even have the power left to remove them. He slumped into his favourite armchair and settled his head into his dirty hands.

She had spent the day reading and became restless when Draco hadn't returned on his usual time. The moment he entered, however, she knew he was forced to convict crimes again. Not that they were classified as such. But in her- and Draco's- moral codex they were.

After listening to the wizard's unsteady breathing for some minutes, and feeling her heart crack at the sound of it, Hermione got up from the sofa. Carefully, like approaching a wounded animal, she drew closer to him. But instead of touching him, she kneeled down. He flinched visibly at her sudden presence, but didn't say a word, and his face stayed hidden between his palms. Slowly first, then with growing confidence, Hermione opened button after button of his deathly black outer robe, avoiding contact with the crisp white shirt he wore underneath. When she was done with all of them, Hermione peeled the robe from his shoulders, brushing her fingertips over the warm fabric heated by his body. When she tapped on his right arm, he straightened his posture somewhat, pulling his arms out of the sleeves. His eyes remained closed, but they opened with a start when Hermione threw the robe into the fire, which gave an angry uproar at the poisoned feeding.

However, his gaze didn't linger on the hearth, but rather on the woman standing next to it. Hermione's breath caught when Draco's eyes locked with hers. So much pain, so much sorrow. In that moment, she understood his task was even more difficult than Harry's had been. Harry's direction had been clear; to fight for all what is good and light with all his friends to guide him and stand by his side. Draco also wanted to bring down Voldemort, but he was acting in the heart of darkness for it, keeping the Good Person of Szechwan alive while being trapped in the drama. And he was alone- or so he thought.

Hermione decided that his overbearing desperation and loneliness had to stop before it tore him apart. Still holding his unwavering gaze, she extended her hand to him.

"Let's go to bed, Draco. You need to rest."

The second he placed his warm hand in hers and let her guide him to the bed, she knew something shifted between them. What exactly she didn't know. But, as they laid down, after she had performed some charms that transfigured his clothes to soft pajama pants and a simple t-shirt and cleaned him up, he touched her. For the first time since she started sleeping in his bed, he pulled her close, slinging his arm around her waist, her back resting against his chest. There was nothing sexual about his embrace, only a damaged soul reaching out for another, equally damaged.

And to Hermione, nothing had ever felt more right than falling asleep with him curled around her.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Ophelia, how long have you been in Malfoy Manor now, four months?" The venom in Pansy's question was only barely concealed.

"Five." Hermione answered back, tinting 'Ophelia's' voice with a sprinkle of pride.

"Goodness, that must be a record for Draco!" Daphne brought herself into the conversation, although, she wasn't unfriendly. Within the circle of younger women Hermione met fairly regular with, the older Greengrass daughter was the one she got along best with. Despite all what happened, she managed to preserved her sunny nature.

"That may be, but I overheard Draco and Theo talking. Lucius is pressing for the next heir to the Malfoy legacy. Draco will be looking for a wife, soon." Hermione couldn't exactly pinpoint why, but these words made her stomach drop to her knees.

Daphne jumped to her defense, "Don't scare Ophelia, Pansy! You should drop the jealousy act, because we all know that it won't be you at Draco's side. The woman must be doing something right; I haven't seen him this calm in years."

That evening, when Draco's arms encircled her, she summoned her courage, turned around to face him, and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips. The kiss lasted only a split second, but when she settled her head in the crook of his arm again, she could feel him smiling against her neck.

Five months turned into the six, soon into the eight. Slowly, the dynamics between Hermione and Draco changed. He began to talk to her, really _talk_. He told her about places, names, attacks, never going into specifics about his actions. She told him about tea-times and lunches, about Theo's taste in lingerie, which made him snort in laughter. A delightful sound, Hermione thought.

They avoided the topic of her departure altogether, clinging too much to each other's company.

They still slept spooning each other, but every night, the kiss Hermione pressed on his lips lingered longer, and before long, he cupped her face for it. Then, very carefully, she trailed his bottom lip with his tongue. At first, he didn't react to it. A week later, he timidly granted her access. After a fortnight, they kissed fully, tongues clashing against each other in a playful battle of dominance.

Just one kiss, every evening.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

This evening, however, when they kissed, she could feel a sob in his throat.

"Draco, what's wrong?" Hermione knew the answer could only be full of pain. When he, finally, answered she could hear the absolute despair pouring from him.

"I can't do this anymore -the death and violence. I- I need to know I'm still human, still _alive_ …"

"I know. I'm here for you. Let me help you, she whispered.

Instead of giving her an answer, Draco pulled her in for a desperate kiss. His hands tangled in her hair; she kissed him back with all the emotions that coursed through her: Compassion, anger, fear - _hope_.

This wasn't their usual, tentative goodnight-kiss. This was raw passion. Soon, kissing wasn't enough anymore, and she felt his hands exploring her body, caressing her back, her waist, her thighs, before his thumb circled around her nipple teasingly. Even if there was her nightgown separating his skin from hers, a jolt of arousal sped through Hermione's body. A moan escaped her lips, while her own hands discovered the attractive male that was Draco Malfoy.

That sound was his undoing and snapped his control.

With a movement that allowed a glimpse of his physical strength, Draco pushed her on her back, one hand still kneading her breast. Her legs spread instinctively, giving him space to nestle himself between them. The turn brought her heated core in delicious closeness to his growing erection. Following an ancient pattern, he grounded himself against her, eliciting another moan, this time from both of them.

With effort, he ceased his kissing and rested his forehead against hers.

"I need you, Hermione. Will you have me?" His voice was gentle, velvety even. The witch didn't need to think of her reply.

"Make me yours."

Draco didn't waste a second. Capturing her lips with a relieved sigh, he trailed his fingers down the length of her willing body. Teasing, exploring, searching, until he found the place between her legs he wanted to conquer. After skimming one finger under the fabric of her already soaked panties, he sunk two fingers into her cunt, relishing in the feel of her around him. His magic working on her, Hermione threw her head back in pleasure, and her hips pressed against his hand, demanding more friction. He continued a painfully slow rhythm, working her in a frenzie. It was his lips, closing around her nipple with just enough power to scrape his teeth over the most sensitive point, that sent her tumbling over the edge. Her hands sunk into his platinum tresses, his name falling from her lips like a prayer for salvation.

When the haze in her head began to clear, she felt his hands on her again, pulling her underwear from her and her nightgown over her head. As she lay on his bed, looking at him while he discarded his clothes in a haste, Hermione felt not exposed, not afraid, not in doubt of the man's intentions. Soon Draco sunk his hardened member into her, establishing a powerful pattern of pulling out and slamming back into her that had her pleading for release after minutes. His thrusts became frantic, his moans and groans indicating his impending orgasm.

She knew he wanted her to come first, but she wouldn't let him. Tilting her pelvis slightly to grant an even deeper penetration, Hermione used her hands to cup his jaw, kissing him with all the passion she knew was between them. That triggered his release, and he spilled himself deep into her, the resulting tingle throwing her into her second climax.

In the afterglow, Draco held her closely curled in his side. Some minutes later, when her breaths had returned to normal again, he tilted her head towards him for a sweet brush of his lips against hers.

"Thank you for making me feel alive again," he whispered.

With his gentle words and his silver eyes raking softly over her face, she simply felt -at home and alive.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Ahhh, this chapter is rather short, I know, but I wanted t develop the story to a certain point. After this one there's one more chapter left. Since from Wednesday on things are going to get very busy for me, I don't really know when it's going to be complete (with Tickling the Dragon it's the same).**

 **Okay, this was super challenging for me to write for different emotional reasons, so I hope you're going to appreciate my effort.**

 **The story is still dedicated to MrBenzedrine who beta'ed this AND made the new cover! Awesome, isn't it? THANK YOU, A.!**

In the next weeks they became each other's beacon of life, absurd as it seemed. Somewhere on the way, they replaced the usual glass of Armagnac with hours of ravishing the other. On some evenings, they encounters were frantic coupling -on others, slow and tender lovemaking. But it always ended in quiet conversations about whatever went through their head: strategies, options, possibilities to end the terror around them.

Books, plays, arts. Friends and foes they shared.

Silly childhood memories, apologies of past behaviour.

Favourite sweets, most horrible dates.

They never put a label on the strange relationship they lived in.

But both knew they were falling hard for the other.

And as much as they kept the world outside away from them, it wasn't always successful.

"They killed Kingsley today." It was Draco's first words after entering his room.

Hermione paled, pressing her hands to her mouth to suppress a sob. Still, heavy tears fell from her eyes. Collapsing on the sofa, she felt Draco's arms wrapping around her. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, clinging to her as much as she was clinging to him. When she finally stopped crying, her mouth could speak what her brain knew for long, and her heart didn't want to admit.

"I have to go, soon. I have to leave Britain."

Draco's voice was full of emotions when he answered, very quiet, "Yes, I'm afraid. The Order is going to need that brilliant brain of yours."

"Come with me." When she said those words, she realised how much she wanted them to become reality.

He blinked, unbelievingly. "You know I can't, Hermione. I need to stay here if I want to protect you."

She sat up, grabbed the man in front of her by his hands and interlaced their fingers. "What _I know_ , Draco, is that this life will destroy sooner or later. The violence, the destruction, the blood you're forced to shed. You're a valuable member of the Order as much as I am, even if only few people know of that. Come with me and help me, I-" her voice nearly broke, "I don't want to live without you."

He caressed a tear from her cheek with his thumb and pressed a kiss on her nose. In his eyes, when they locked with hers, she could read his emotions like an open book; hope, love, life, everything directed to her, everything surrounding the two of them.

"Neither do I. Maybe, when the time is right, I can find a way to escape this Hell hole."

His heavy words sparked another flame of hope in Hermione. One that stood for the future and had too long been cold.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Some days were worse for Hermione than others. She felt useless then, trapped in the confines of a golden cage. And not even as herself, but as someone else. Someone who didn't even exist. She knew she still collected valuable information, but she felt isolated from the rest of the Order, being somehow caught in between a resistance fighter, a good mistress/spy, and whatever her future would bring.

On those days, she brooded over the books Draco brought her from the Manor's library; books about war history, about strategy, about leading people. The witch needed something to feel useful, and back in their Hogwarts days, studying and preparing always did that to her.

Over the weeks spent with the sheltered wives and mistresses, it became more apparent to her than ever: she'd never be the type of woman who was satisfied with standing behind a husband and leaving all important things for him to decide. But she desperately hoped there was a future with Draco in which she could support him – and he her.

For the last two weeks, Hermione suspected she had fallen into some kind of depression: she sometimes slept half of the day, drained of all energy. The thought of food made her sick, and she often sent the tray of food brought to her doors away without touching it. But in the evenings, when Draco came back, it was like living in another world. She smiled, they talked for hours, they made love. They fell asleep in each other's arms, clinging both to the only good thing happening to them.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Pansy was in a particularly good mood today. Hermione hadn't heard one foul comment from her all afternoon, despite the fact that they met in a bigger group of women; Narcissa was there, and Daphne's and Pansy's mother, too. Normally, her barely concealed insults were even nastier then, but not today.

It was one of Hermione's bad days, and her stomach rebelled at the prospect of being filled with something as sweet as the chocolate served beside the tea. She was short of excusing herself when she overheard Daphne and Pansy talking next to her.

"You're positively glowing today, Pans! Is there a reason?" Daphne asked her friend, and Hermione was surprised how soft Pansy's voice became when she answered.

"Isn't it said about every pregnant woman? They have an inner glow-"

The rest of her sentence was suffocated by Daphne hugging her and squealing.

"Merlin, Pans, congratulations!"

The black-haired witch's smile at Daphne's words was genuine.

Hermione, on the other side, pondered how it would change Theo – would he hesitate to act in a battle when he had a child to come home to? Be more merciful? Or would the baby be a reason to fight even harder, because he wanted to create a twisted 'perfect' world for his heir?

Meanwhile, the two women continued their conversation. "You know, Theo and I were trying for a child, but I didn't expect it to happen so fast. And when I went to my private Healer, because I was feeling so tired and drained over weeks, a pregnancy was the last reason I'd have thought of."

Hermione's cup nearly slipped from her hands, and she felt hot and cold at the same time. No- that couldn't be… or could it? When she counted days and events in her head, Narcissa threw her out of her thoughts as she placed a gentle hand on her arm.

"Ophelia, dear, you're quite pale. Is everything alright?"

Swallowing the bile rising in her throat down, Hermione looked into the woman's face, trying not to wince at the whiff of alcohol coming from Draco's mother.

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy. Everything is as it should be."

But that was a lie.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

After confirming her suspicions with a simple spell, she cried for hours. So many women in her position would be overjoyed, but Hermione simply couldn't be. The same dark thoughts were running in circles in her head over and over again, even when Draco came back.

She couldn't tell him. No.

For once, she was afraid of his reaction, afraid that it would make them fall apart, break them more than they already were.

Furthermore, telling him would make it real.

And that's why she feigned a headache this evening; he was so sweet then, brought her tea and massaged her neck. It took her everything not to start crying again at his very own perfection.

The sullen mood wouldn't leave her and followed her into a fitful sleep, while the man beside her slumbered deeply and peacefully.

For a short moment in the morning, after she opened her eyes, she believed everything was a bad dream. Hermione wanted to believe this so much. But reality caught up with her violently, and thirty seconds later she found herself retching into the toilet. Miserable as she was, she forgot to close the bathroom door-

"Hermione, is everything alright?" Draco's feet padded over the marble floor, and when he helped her up, his hand caressed her back soothingly. Grey, concerned eyes looked at her when he cleaned her up with a flick of his wand.

"Should I call for a Healer? You've been under the weather lately. We would have to glamour you, of course, but he could surely do something to help you."

She had to tell him. Keeping it to herself wouldn't work forever, right?

"I already know what is wrong, Draco. And I've thought about for hours if I should do something about it." Breathing in deeply, she braced herself for admitting aloud what was only in her head to this point. "I'm _pregnant_."

Silence. Draco froze, his face expressionless.

For what felt like hours but only could have been seconds, neither of them spoke a word. Hermione wanted to run, wanted to embrace him, wanted to yell at him- when he finally spoke, some tears that broke her heart all over again were rolling over his cheeks. His voice was just a whisper, but rang loudly through the silence.

"Fuck."

Draco fell silent again. Hermione couldn't bear it for long -she had to talk about it with him. It was also _his_ child, after all. "You know, there a ways, potions, herbs, spells to-"

The wizard's reaction was explosive, yelling, "No!" He collected himself for some seconds and went on calmer, but with an almost dangerous undertone in his voice.

"Please, Hermione. Don't do that to me. We've both seen enough death, and I won't do that to my- to _our_ child."

Hermione released a breath she didn't know she was holding. As difficult as the situation was now for them, she didn't know if she would have gone through with the alternative. Draco was right; she had seen enough darkness and death, and he even more so.

He slouched down onto his favourite armchair.

"I've got to get you out of here. If someone- anyone gets news of this, it will be grave danger for all of us, but most important for you and the child." His voice grew stronger with conviction.

"Why?" Hermione wanted him to put her fears into words.

His dry laugh held no humour. "You don't know why? What happens to a half-blood child born into the Malfoy dynasty? My father would be livid, he'd be out to kill. What happens if the Glamours fade and someone tells the Dark Lord whom I've been protecting? What if the child isn't blond and grey-eyed, but has your unruly brown curls and beautiful eyes? What if someone kills me? On your own, you've got a chance to escape and flee, but with a child? Merlin, Hermione, there are so many reasons, you know that so bloody well!"

Of course, she knew.

"Were those the reasons you were crying back in the bathroom?" She walked over to him, her hands stroking his soft blond hair on the sides of his head, and felt his settling on her waist.

"No. Maybe you don't believe me, but- those were tears of joy. However this child came to be, it's a gift, even if it comes with fears and to a world I hate."

The brunette smiled a little despite the situation.

"Oh, Malfoy, I can tell you exactly how this child came to be. The conception must have happened in our first night together. The spells we used for the times after that were entirely useless."

The father-to-be didn't even try to suppress a smirk. "But you're the Brightest Witch of our Age and all. Didn't you think about the possibility at all?"

"Only for a split second, I admit. My cycle was so chaotic with all the stress, and the probability of ovulation was so low…" She blushed at her- at their own stupidity.

"About as low as us falling for each other, I'd say. And yet- you two," he hesitantly placed a hand on her lower abdomen, "Are the best things that could have happened to me. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

 **Thank you so much for your reviews: Sassystarbuck09 (don't be too sad, okay?); HermioneGrangerTheDragonTaimer (was it a good or a bad awww?); MrBenzedrine (Do you know how proud it makes me that you like this story?); IrishPrincess1987 (oh, sensual is a fantastic word for lemons ;); glad you liked the chapter!); Dramione shipper 17 (mh, Pansy isn't the problem anymore, it seems...); pgoodrichboggs (thank you, it was maybe the hardest smut-scene I've written so far); Grovek26 (you're welcome!); Guest (Thanks!); Sam Wallflower (I must admit I don't really like Pansy... but Narcissa, well...); oscla35 (I'm happy you liked the passion!); Mistress DragonFlame (sent you a PM ;)).**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sooooo this is the final chapter of this story. And I've got to admit, this darker and sad stuff is very difficult to write for me, but I've fought my way through it.**

 **Proofreading this chapter was a teamwork by waymay and MrBenzedrine - my superheroes ;), THANKS for that!**

 **This story -from the first word to the last- is for MrBenzedrine, who prompted me and challenged the Hell out of me with that (see prompt in the first chapter). I hope you still like what I made of it!**

Immediately, they decided to put the plan for her escape into action. For the next tea-time with the other women, Hermione wore a poorly disguised bruise on her neck as part of her Ophelia Glamour.

And it worked- the witches started whispering behind her back, deciphering from Draco's apparent rough behaviour that her time was up. Hermione knew those seeds of deception were a necessary tool for a safe escape, but the indifference they treated her with now made her shiver. Maybe these women were only victims of the war, after all, and had to protect their fragile bubble by those means.

Though, someone had to be out there whom Draco trusted with her and their child's life, because someone was helping him organise the escape. However, Draco kept the identity of the helper a secret and only informed the person about the fact she needed to escape, not about her delicate state. But all that planning would be in vain if the Weasleys didn't know she was coming, and to inform them proved to be a problem, because the flux of letters needed to be handled with utmost care.

When Hermione woke one morning, she found Draco caressing the bare skin on her belly, tracing the considerable bump that had developed there, seemingly, overnight. The wondrous gleam in his eyes told her he'd noticed it just now.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" she answered.

"No, it doesn't. I'm just curious. And excited."

Silence.

"Draco?"

"Mh?" He was still staring at, and caressing, her baby bump.

"What happens after the baby is born? When we're in Italy, or Spain, or wherever-"

"I'm following." He spoke with utter conviction, his eyes shining with a spark Hermione had learned to identify as hope. "I have no idea how or when. But I promise, I'll find you."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

One day, the tides began to turn.

The Weasleys hadn't answered yet, and time was running thin. Seven months into her pregnancy, Hermione didn't have to pretend the additional back pains she put on display with the fake bruises on her cheek and neck in the tea time meetings with the other witches. The baby was moving and kicking restlessly beneath the glamour that also hid her belly bump, and she simply couldn't sit relaxed in her chair while Narcissa hosted the meeting in Malfoy Manor flawlessly; even while she was into her third brandy-infused tea.

Pansy, on the other hand, looked like life itself, glowing and showing off her swollen belly.

"Come on, Pans, Tell us, finally: Is it a boy or a girl?" Daphne couldn't stop asking, and now Pansy gave in, smiling.

"A boy. An heir to the House of Nott. Theo is overjoyed; we even started discussing names."

Draco and Hermione didn't perform the spell to reveal the gender of the baby. He wanted to keep his curiosity, he said. But Hermione knew the real reason, as it was the same why they hadn't discussed names yet: he was afraid, afraid that something would go wrong. That the baby, or her, wouldn't make it. And he was insecure and doubting: did he really deserve to be happy? To bring something good into this world? Not that he talked to her about those fears. It wasn't necessary. She could see it in his endlessly deep grey eyes.

A particularly strong kick against her bladder made her excuse herself for the bathroom. Deciding the nearest one was on her left, she started walking in the supposed direction. Caught in her thoughts, she turned around the corner-

-And very nearly collided with none other than Lucius Malfoy. In her time as a mistress, she had rarely met Draco's father, and she didn't regret that.

Eyes the same grey as her lover's glanced down at her, but they were cold and empty. The tall wizard lowered his hands on her shoulders, his gaze travelling up and down her- Ophelia's body.

"Look whom we have here. What a pleasant surprise. My son's playmate getting lost in this big house. May I be of assistance to the – _lady_?"

His words were polite and aristocratic. His tone was honeyed poison.

Pulling her towards him, he placed one hand on her breast, kneading it painfully. Hermione hissed and tried very hard to fight the rising panic. Lucius wasn't the light his name implied – in fact, he was the darkness.

"Then again, those women won't miss you when I test your _qualities_. There must be something special about you if Draco has kept you in his bed this long."

Just when Lucius wanted to drag her away from the dining room, an icy voice intervened.

"You'd be right, Father. She's _my_ plaything. And I don't like to share, especially not with _you_."

Almost casually leaning against the wall in his black robes and twirling his wand between his fingers, Draco made an impressive sight -so entirely different from when they were alone. Hermione was reminded that he was still the fighter he was supposed to be; oozing an aura of dark power, deadly dangerous and ready to die for the cause. Though, she knew, it wasn't the cause his father bowed to, nor was it the same as a year ago. His priorities lay with her and their child now, and that made Draco more threatening than ever.

His mask of confidence didn't waver when he grabbed her arms and roughly pulled her away from Lucius.

"You've become a sad excuse of a wizard when you can't get more than a whore used by your own son. Ah, ah-" He tapped his wand against Lucius chest, who reached for his own in his robes. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. I'm quite sure our Dark Lord wouldn't approve if I had to dirty my shoes with your blood." The older man ceased his motions at his son's display of power and hierarchy. Draco turned towards Hermione, his voice still devoid of obvious emotions. "As nice as this little chat was, it's time to go for you, Ophelia. If Father's taken an interest in you, you're not worth my attention anymore."

Leaving Lucius standing in the hallway, Draco dragged her out of the Manor, carefully as not to hurt her, but roughly enough to keep up the disguise.

Only when they passed the outer wards, Draco dared to speak to her.

"We've got to go. Now. You're not safe here anymore."

"Where are we going?" Her breathing was uneven, the additional weight of the child in her womb weakening her fitness.

"Away from here."

With that, he embraced her gently and apparated them away.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"What kind of place is this?" Hermione inquired when she opened her eyes and spotted a beautiful cottage by the sea shore.

"This is my mother's house; she inherited it from her grandmother. My father doesn't know of it, and she uses it when she has to escape him for a while."

Hermione gasped in surprise. "Narcissa's? Does it mean-"

"Yes, this means she is the person that helps me in the background. She may be bitter, but she's as fed up with this war as I am."

Two hours later, when Hermione had made herself familiar with the cozy cottage and taken a nap, she heard the door opening downstairs. When she arrived in the living room, she could see it was Narcissa who arrived. Just as a precaution, she had disguised herself with the Ophelia Glamour, and saw how Draco sighed, relieved when he noticed.

"Mother, you know Ophelia already." Taking Hermione by her hand, he led her towards his mother.

Narcissa, poised as ever, raised an eyebrow at her son's antics. "Yes, I've met her numerous times, Draco. Why did you leave so suddenly? I haven't yet prepared an escape route!"

"Father got too close to her for my liking. Mother, this will come as a shock to you, but Ophelia is a fake personality-" he lifted the Glamours slowly, starting with Hermione's face. As predicted, Narcissa reacted surprised, but Hermione allowed herself a silent smile, not interfering the moment between mother and son.

"By Slytherin, this is Hermione Granger! Draco, don't tell me you had Miss Granger, the resistance's most precious gem, in Malfoy Manor all the time?"

"I protected her, Mother, don't worry. But there's more…" She could tell Draco was nervous now. He vanished the rest of her disguise and exposed her pregnant belly this way.

Narcissa Malfoy showed her strength in this moment. With her head held high, she walked over to a cupboard, extracted a bottle of whiskey and a glass, poured the amber liquid into the glass and downed it without further delay.

She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, Hermione discovered that Draco might have the same eye colour as Lucius, but the lively spark in them was the same as the one his mother was showing now.

Her eyes locked with Hermione's. "I presume the child is Draco's?"

The brunette nodded. "Of course."

"Do you love him?"

Without hesitation Hermione answered, squeezing Draco's hand with hers. "From the bottom of my heart."

That seemed to seal the deal for Narcissa, because she turned towards her son again.

"When you go back to the Manor, destroy the family tree. Burn the whole room down. We can't risk to endanger the child and Miss Granger when they appear there after the birth."

"But that's going to destroy an important part of your family history," Hermione feebly protested, a shallow uproar of her former self.

"That's certainly true. But you, my dear, carry the sole family's future."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It astounded Hermione how smooth her sudden departure from the Manor was anticipated by the others. Draco told her how he boasted in front of his fellows 'how he gave the whore what she deserved', and the others had clapped him on the shoulder. The fire that destroyed the family tree was blamed on an unfortunate house-elf.

Narcissa reported her departure had caused no reaction in the circle of women she had been part of for more than a year. The colour of war painted different shades of dark.

In the following two months, Hermione's loneliness was only interrupted by visits from Draco and his mother, whenever they could get away without raising suspicions.

When Narcissa was there, they talked. Timidly at first, then their conversations became friendlier, with Draco or the baby often being the focus of them.

When Draco was there, they rarely talked. They spent hours in each other's arms and sometimes making love, his hands resting on her abdomen protectively. It hurt so much to feel their time together coming to an end, even if Hermione was safer in the cottage than she had ever been in the Manor. Only two weeks before the birth Draco informed her with tears in his eyes that Ron had sent a letter; they were ready to meet her in France in three weeks.

The birth itself was an uncomplicated affair. Hermione had informed Draco and Narcissa using a protean-charmed coin as soon as her water broke. Six hours later, Lyra Malfoy entered the imperfect world of her parents with a powerful scream.

After cleaning her granddaughter up, Narcissa wrapped Lyra in a soft green blanket she had kept from her son's baby days and handed the bundle over to Hermione.

Until now, Hermione never completely understood the biblical story of how much hope and love a newborn child could bring. But, as she held her utterly perfect daughter in her arms and saw the awe and love in Draco's and Narcissa's eyes –she finally understood.

She must have been more exhausted than she had noticed, because when she opened her eyes again, Hermione saw Draco sitting in the rocking chair by the window, his daughter securely in his arms and the setting sun highlighting his blond hair with warm rays.

The new father spoke softly to the baby, but Hermione could hear him nonetheless, and his words made her heart melt.

"I promise you, little Lyra, I'm keeping you and your Mum safe, even if it's the last thing I do."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione's departure came faster than she thought. She didn't even have time to say goodbye to Draco anymore, but somehow she was relieved about it, because she would have failed to go.

Narcissa had organised a car from somewhere; it was the most inconspicuous way to travel for Hermione and the baby and worked without magic, which meant safety.

When she, finally, _finally_ , drove the car from the ferry in Calais, her companion awoke and started fussing immediately.

"Shush, little Lyra, everything's going to be okay now." She caressed the baby's belly through the soft green, expensive looking blanket that covered the newborn. "Your Daddy made sure we're going to be safe."

Ron waited for her behind Calais. Their reunion made Hermione's heart lighter. Breathing in his familiar scent brought her back to a past she had nearly forgotten, with laughs and jokes and Harry. After they stood motionless for about five minutes, just bathing in the other's comforting presence, Hermione's present and future made herself prominent with hungry little noises.

Only then did Ron stepped towards the car and see the baby on the passenger seat. Without hesitation, he unstrapped her and cradled her in his arms.

"Who's this little lady?" he cooed. Hermione, cursing her hormones, felt tears well up in her eyes again.

"This is Lyra. She's my daughter, mine and- Draco's." She prepared for the explosion then. But that never came.

"I guessed. McGonagall informed us about his role. Poor sod." Ron paused, a finger carefully tracing Lyra's soft bright curls. "She's a love child, isn't she?" Many implications hid under the surface of this simple question. Had Draco forced himself upon her? Had he manipulated her? Did she love the father of her child?

Hermione's lips formed a little melancholic smile. "She most definitely is."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Two strenuous days later, after travelling by train and car, Hermione stepped through Molly Weasley's door somewhere in the sparsely populated Spanish countryside. This was also the moment Molly adopted Draco Malfoy's child as one of the clan.

It took one week to catch up and meeting the others: Ginny, George, Bill, Charlie, Percy, with their spouses and children. All safe and healthy.

Another week later, Hermione and Lyra moved into a tiny house close to Molly and Arthur.

One day after that, she started planning and plotting for the Order.

Over the course of the next few months, she threw herself into her mission and caring for Lyra, doing everything to forget her bleeding heart.

Her dedication to the cause led to small victories for the light side. An attack on the Death Eaters here, a support chain interrupted there.

In some moments Hermione thought about Pansy, Daphne and the others: How did her actions affect them? But she fought the thoughts down, not allowing herself to lose sight of the bigger picture.

Though, every time she looked at Lyra peacefully sleeping in her cradle, she realised: Being good sometimes meant to fight. For her, it meant fighting for a future for her daughter, a future where Draco didn't have to fight anymore.

On Christmas Eve a letter arrived by muggle post, not indicating who sent it, but that wasn't necessary for Hermione. It only read one, single line.

' _I'm coming home to you, pet.'_

Three months later, Hermione flew into Draco's arms. He was battered and bruised, having faked his own death with his mother's help, who was waiting for her own chance to escape.

But he was alive.

And he was with her and Lyra.

It was perfection for them.

Though, they planned never to set a foot on the British Isles again; their fight had become less physical, but more strategic and psychologic.

Even if they knew they probably couldn't win the still ongoing war, they never stopped fighting.

For hope.

For love.

For life.

 **P.S.: I know I left some things open, for example how Draco faked his death and what happens in England, but that was on purpose. I hope all of you who are suckers for happy endings (like me) are okay with this one. It's not sunshine and daisies, but none of them died, either. And they are reunited. Before starting it, I actually thought about having it end quite badly, but I couldn't bring it over me to write that.**

 **Thanks to those who reviewed: pgoodrichboggs (oh, marriage proposals - haven't thought of them this intensively, but are a fantastic idea); Sam Wallflower (you already knew - is the ending still okay for you?); Dramione shipper17 (you waited so much for this one, hope you like it! Even if it's devoid of smut ;)); Mistress DragonFlame (hope it's enough angst for you, for me, it was in means of writing); Sassystarbuck09 (yes, quite the drama, isn't it?); Grovek26 (Draco really has his sweet moments in this story, hasn't he?); Slytherinvillain7 (still feeling bad?); IrishPrincess1987 (thanks so much for the compliment!); HermioneGrangerTheDragonTamer (thank you for loving it, it makes me very happy!); Sundaegirl99 (heartbreaking? Noooo! Is it whole again after this chapter?); MrBenzedrine: You know me, I couldn't settle for a really bad ending! Actually, I'm quite proud that I fulfilled your prompt AND that you like the story so much, even if writing this was a big challenge for me. And you're right, it was never just about the physical relations between Draco and Hermione, but so much more about the emotional ones.**


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